Living Organism (First Snow)
by Moldy Milk
Summary: It's the first snowfall of the season and Derek needs a place to stay for the night. AKA the one in which Stiles and Derek cuddle while drinking hot chocolate and the sheriff is a biology enthusiast. sterek, one-shot


Stiles was just beginning to slip off to a dream about red hoods and big bad wolves when he heard his bedroom window slide open. A chill swept over him from the open window as he sat up in bed and looked towards the intruder. He reached down to pick up and aluminum baseball bat and slowly crept out of bed and over to the window. He raised the bat over his head and was about to bring down its wrath upon the figure's head, when it raised a hand up and gripped the end of the bat, rendering it immovable.

Stiles opened his mouth to yell (not scream, contrary to popular belief) for his father, when the second hand clamped over his mouth and a familiar voice hissed, "It's me, you idiot. Who else would be breaking and entering at 3 AM?"

"Uh, Scott?" Stiles tried to say, but his words were muffled by Derek's hand and sounded more like "Uhf, Scutt?"

Derek sighed and removed his hand from Stiles's mouth. Stiles grinned at him as he clambered through the window and asked, "So what're you doing here anyway?"

"First snowfall tonight." Derek answered as if it was the simplest idea in the world. When Stiles gave him a _go on_ look, he continued on, exasperatedly. "My house doesn't exactly have a fully functioning roof. Gets pretty chilly in the winter."

"Don't werewolves have that whole supernatural heat thing going on, though?"

Derek gave him a look that said "really?" as he sat in Stiles's computer chair and kicked his feet up onto his desk. "We're part human, too. We can't just... what's your term? 'Wolf out'? Yeah, we can't just wolf out for seasons at a time."

Stiles's eyes were slightly wider than usual when he asked with utter interest, "Why not?" Derek growled and Stiles took a step back before proceeding to sit on the edge of the bed. "Fine, fine, no more questions." And with that he lay back and promptly fell asleep.

Stiles awoke an hour later to the feeling of a warm body pressed against his back and arms encircling him in an embrace. In his tired haze, he snuggled into the hug, thinking that it was Lydia from the dream he was just having. He grumbled something and reached over to grab his phone from his bedside table to see what time it was, and was startled by the reflection in its screen. Shit, it was Derek Fucking Hale. In Stiles's bed. Cuddling shit up.

"This is not Derek Fucking Hale in my bed," Stiles said aloud, quickly regretting it when Derek's eyes slid open and immediately narrowed in distaste at the sight of Stiles. "Uh, hey there, sleepy head?" Stiles tried, wincing at the term "sleepy head".

Derek growled and said, annoyed, "I wasn't sleeping."

Stiles stared at him before slowly asking, "And so you were manhandling me because... why exactly?" A growl from Derek caused Stiles to hold in a giggle. He stood up out of bed and began to walk to the door, but turned around when he remembered that he had an (uninvited) guest in his room and he just couldn't be rude to the nice man and asked, "Do you want some hot chocolate?"

"What?"

"I'm going to go make myself some hot chocolate. Do you want some?" Stiles received only a blank stare from Derek. "I'll take your brooding silence as a yes, then."

To Stiles's surprise, Derek stood and walked towards him, nodding his head towards the door. When Stiles remained still, Derek opened the door and walked into the hallway, quickly followed by a scrambling Stiles who gripped onto his sleeve as an attempt to stop him in his tracks.

"You can't come with me!" he stage-whispered. "If my dad wakes up and sees an ex-murder convict making hot chocolate with his under-aged son in the kitchen, there's a very small chance that he's going to just brush it off and get his whiskey!"

"You make it sound like making hot chocolate is such a loud task. Heating up milk doesn't normally consist of sommoning Satan or playing death metal. Unless..." Derek looked Stiles up and down. "Well, it is you."

Stiles huffed and put his hand on his hips, scrunching his nose. "And just what are you suggesting?"

"That if we spend any more time talking in the hallway we'll wake up your dad and then you really _will_ be in trouble."

Stiles bit his bottom lip, looking over the facts for a moment or two, and shrugged. "Fine, whatever."

Stiles walked behind Derek slowly, dragging his feet and scowling in refusal. They made their hot chocolate quietly, except for when Stiles almost spilled the hot milk all over his front and yelped out. Derek had snatched the mug from his hands gracefully and shot him a glare. When they returned to the recess of Stiles's room, Stiles sat on his bed cross-legged while sipping his hot chocolate and smiled up at Derek, who was standing awkwardly at the bedroom door with his mug (decorated with a scarf-wearing polar bear kissing a penguin) gripped tightly by both hands. When Stiles knitted his eyebrows together, Derek walked to the bed slowly and sat on the edge, clenching his jaw tightly in obvious discomfort.

"You can sit closer, y'know. I won't bite. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who is supposed to worry about that in this relationship." Stiles said smugly with a smirk.

Derek quirked up an eyebrow. "Relationship?"

"Well, you can hardly call it a friendship, what with your constant murderous threats."

Derek sighed and moved so that more of his body was on the bed. He opened his mouth to ask, "Happy?" sarcastically, but Stiles's attention was caught by something else. His eyes were wide and an expression of absolute happiness graced his features. He was staring at the window through which Derek had come earlier, and when Derek his head to see what was so interesting, he saw thick white flakes of snow falling slowly. Stiles set his cup on his bedside table and almost tripped over himself trying to get to the window, and when he reached it he pulled up the window and stared. Just stared. Completely silent.

Derek slowly and cautiously walked over to Stiles. When he reached Stiles, Stiles turned his face to look up at Derek; Derek was taken aback by the absolute look of joy on Stiles's face, completely pure and untainted, as if he had never been happier in his life.

"Sorry, sorry," Stiles said with a flushed face. "I just... yeah."

"It's fine." Derek replied, turning and sitting down on the window sill. "It's pretty, I get it."

They stayed like that for a while, Derek sitting on the sill watching Stiles and Stiles sitting on the floor, staring out of the window at the snow with his lips slightly parted. The cold from outside caused his pink lips to darken and his cheeks to turn pink. He looked so peaceful and stunningly gorgeous. Derek felt the unexplainable urge to kiss him. So when Stiles turned to Derek and gave him a small, apologetic smile, he did. Derek leaned down and captured his lips in a light kiss. Stiles, much to his dismay, didn't react at all, he just sat there and, in the simplest term, "took it".

Derek pulled back slowly, his eyes lidded halfway and his lips parted. Stiles stared at him, a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and joy (most likely left over from the snow, Derek decided) on his face.

Derek ran a hand through his hair and immediately regretted his actions. "I guess I'm the one who should be apologizing now, huh?" When Stiles didn't reply, Derek let out a softly spoken, "Sorry."

Stiles was still staring at him with that look, and it was beginning to unnerve him, but Stiles finally broke away and looked at the floor, saying in a quiet voice, "I can see why you didn't want to stay out there, it's pretty cold."

"What?"

"Your lips were, uh, pretty cold. It must be from outside." Stiles looked up at Derek again and looked worried. Derek was going to shoot out some smart-ass comment about how he'd been in Stiles's house for over two hours and there was absolutely no way his lips were cold from being outside anymore, but the expression on Stiles's face was just so painstakingly earnest that he couldn't find it in himself.

It was silent for a few more minutes, but then Stiles opened his mouth again and said, "If you do it again, I'll do it too."

"Do what?" Derek asked. He mentally slapped himself after, it was so obvious what Stiles was referring to; there must have been some Wolfsbane in that hot chocolate, what with how dumbed-down Derek was acting.

"Kiss me."

Derek's stomach dropped at those words. He knew they were said as an explanation, but they sounded more like an order, and to hear Stiles ask to be kissed by Derek jumbled his thoughts more and more until they were so tangled he could barely tell them apart. He rested a hand on Stiles's shoulder and began to lean down, Stiles's eyes slid shut this time and he leaned up to meet Derek halfway. The kiss wasn't one that could be described as "passionate" or "intense" like Stiles had most definitely _not_ read in trashy romance novels. Their lips pressed together slowly, almost as if they believed they would break if they went any more quickly. Stiles pressed up into Derek and slung his arms around Derek's shoulders; yet they kept their lips closed.

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out when they pulled apart, his arms still around Derek's shoulders. "That was really nice."

Derek nodded in agreement. He looked flustered or embarrassed or maybe something between the two that had no word to describe it. Nevertheless, Stiles picked up a moment of bravery to tilt his head to the side and kiss Derek again. That time it was a bit more intense: after a few presses of kisses against his lips, Derek opened his mouth slightly and pressed his tongue against Stiles's bottom lip, attempting to move the kiss up a notch. Stiles sighed heavily when he opened his mouth and licked into Derek's, who tasted like hot coco and cinnamon. Stiles found himself surprised by this- he always expected Derek to taste like raw steak and motor oil. Of course, he understood why Derek tasted the way he did, but after imagining again and again what their first kiss would be like, he couldn't help but be surprised when fantasy and reality barely met up in that area.

Derek made a frustrated noise as he pulled up Stiles by his upper arm, he pulled him close by the waist and kissed him again. Stiles liked this, he liked this a lot. He didn't exactly have very much experience in the area, therefore being kissed by Derek Hale, one of the hottest guys in Beacon Hills, was more than a bit stressful. At least, that's how Stiles thought it should be. But it wasn't, instead it felt like Stiles had done this hundreds of times; it was comfortable and familiar. He felt like he was supposed to be doing it.

Derek mumbled something against his lips, and Stiles, being Stiles, pulled back to ask what he had said.

"Nothing. It's nothing." Derek said in a tone close to annoyed.

He leaned down to kiss Stiles again, but Stiles moved his head out of the way and whined, "C'mon, tell me!"

"I said that you're sweet." When Stiles raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "sweet?", Derek sighed and if Stiles hadn't known him any better, he would have said that he had blushed. "You taste sweet."

Stiles choked back a gasp at Derek Hale complimenting someone and instead of gaping at him, he opted to squeak out, "Is that good?"

Derek smirked and leaned forward. "What do you think?" But when Stiles leaned towards Derek to kiss him again, Derek pulled away. "It's pretty uncomfortable over here."

"Well I, uh, I have a nice comfy bed right over th-, uh, there."

Derek rolled his eyes as he stood. He took Stiles's hand and pulled him up, walking them both over to the bed. He stumbled over his own feet just before they reached the bed, which made Stiles burst out in laughter and Derek growl at him to shut up.

They sat beside each other on the edge of the bed and Derek tilted his head slowly before kissing Stiles again. He smoothed a hand across Stiles's neck, and Stiles in turn immediately leaned into Derek. Stiles grabbed the front of Derek's shirt and pulled him towards himself, so that they fell back against the bed and Derek was pressed over Stiles.

After making out for quite some time, they promptly fell asleep.

Stiles woke up slowly. He stretched and yawned and slid his eyes open to his bright room. He wasn't surprised that Derek wasn't there, it would have been awkward, anyway. He sat up with a start, however, when he heard a banging at his bedroom door.

"What!" he yelled at the door.

"Stiles, get dressed and come downstairs immediately!" Sherriff Stilinski's voice called.

Stiles sighed and rolled out of bed, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas into normal clothes. He slowly stalked downstairs, glaring daggers at his father who was standing at the front door wearing a winter jacket and boots.

"Why didn't you get dressed?" he asked in an almost worried tone.

"I didn't see the point." Stiles retorted like the totally annoyed teenager he was.

"Just put some shoes and jacket on, you need to see this!"

Stiles begrudgingly did as he was told, and followed his father outside into their front yard. He was searching the ground and walking quickly, until he found was he appeared to be looking for and waved Stiles over.

"Look at this!" he exclaimed, pointing at the ground. "Footprints! What living organism might this be? What can we conclude and _not_ conclude about this organism based on its foot size?"

Stiles stared where his father was pointing, and swallowed thickly. There, in the fresh snow, was a set of human footprints, which Stiles knew belonged to Derek. He was about to start explaining himself with a completely un-thought-out-plan, but his dad cut him off before he could even begin.

"Now what have I told you about sneaking Scott in, Stiles?" he asked exasperatedly. "You know he's welcome in our house any time, but I want you to _ask_ before he comes over."

Stiles decided that the Sherriff's story about Scott would slide much more easily than the story about a convicted murderer in his 20's making out with Stiles, so he went along with it.

"You were already asleep! What am I supposed to do, wake you up at 2 AM to ask if Scott can come over?"

"Grounded."

"What, but Da-"

"No Scott, no video games, no Internet. For a week."

"But Dad I-"

"Two weeks."

"But-"

The Sheriff gave him a stern look. "Unless you want it to be three, I think you should stop trying to 'butt' your way in." his father chuckled at his own play on words and turned to walk back into the house.

Stiles crossed his arms and scowled. No video games?


End file.
